Play Dead
Page 65
“No,” she replied, “not a word.”
LAURA told Graham Rowe the whole story. She started with the house being broken into, the open calendar on the desk, the missing photograph, the missing money, Richard Corsel, the money transfer to Switzerland—everything. By the time she finished, they were settled into the plush chairs in the sitting room of her suite at the Pacific International Hotel.
Graham began to pace back and forth, his head nodding as he listened to her words. He petted his beard with his hand. “That’s certainly a strange story, Laura.”
“I know.”
“Very strange,” he repeated as though clarifying the notion in his own mind. “You say that nobody knew David’s bank number except the two of you?”
“Right.”
Graham peered at her. “That would make you a pretty good suspect, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” Laura said matter-of-factly. “I’m the wife. I would have inherited everything anyway. There would have been no reason for me to go through the whole money-transfer scheme.”
He nodded at her. “I didn’t mean—”
“Please don’t apologize,” she interrupted him. “We have to explore every possible avenue. We might as well get rid of that one first.”
“True enough,” he replied. “Now let me make another observation, which you may find a tad more insightful than my first: you suspect your husband’s mate T.C. may have something to do with this.”
Laura stood. “What makes you say that?”
“Simple,” Graham said. “If you still trusted him completely, he’d be here with you. He was the first one you called when David disappeared. By your own definition, he’s a good cop who was David’s best mate. So why isn’t he here investigating all of this?”
Laura glanced out the window. Down the block stood the Peterson building. Why had she gone to that damn meeting with the Petersons anyway? Why hadn’t she just stayed with David? “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve always trusted T.C., and so did David. They were very close. I can’t believe he would do anything to hurt David. He loved him. And yet . . .”
“Yet?”
“He’s been acting so weird lately.”
“In what way?”
“There’ve been a lot of things. He keeps disappearing all the time. He tried to stop me from putting pressure on Corsel at the bank. He shoves away all the strange happenings as coincidence. And that’s not like the T.C. I know. The T.C. I know would go through hell to trace down any clue, especially if it involved David.”
“So then he doesn’t know you’re here?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Graham sat back down. “Well, then, what do you say we get this investigation started?”
“What should we do first?”
“Do you have a photograph of David?”
She reached into her handbag and pulled out a photo of him that she had taken the previous February. David’s cheeks were red from the wind, his breath visible in the bitter winter morning. But his smile flashed brightly through the harsh weather. “Here,” she said handing it to him. “What are you going to do with it?”
“The call to the bank came from this hotel, right?” he said.
“So?”
“So,” Graham answered, “we’re in the hotel already. Let’s see if any of the staff remember seeing David.”
THEY spent the next several hours interviewing the staff. Most were not even on duty on that fateful day in June; others did not recognize the man in the photograph.
“Now what?” Laura asked.
Graham thought a moment. “Let’s go to the bar on the second floor.”
“You think the bartender might have seen him?”
“Very doubtful,” the sheriff replied. “I was thinking more along the lines of having a drink. Man is not a camel, you know.”
She followed him up the stairs. They sat on stools and waited for the barmaid to serve them. Laura looked at the woman behind the bar. She was young, not more than twenty-three or twenty-four. Very attractive in an Ivory Soap-girl sort of way. Outdoorsy-looking. Welltoned body and long auburn hair. The color of her hair reminded Laura of her aunt Judy.
“What can I get ya?” she asked Graham.
“A couple of Four Xs.”
“Coming right up.”
Laura nudged Graham. “Four X?”
“It’s a local beer. You like beer, don’t you?”
She nodded. “What do we do next, Graham?”
“Not sure yet. If no one recognizes him, then it could be your banker Corsel was right. Someone disguised David’s voice and called from here. The question is who.”
The pretty bartender came back with two huge mugs filled with Four X beer, the foam spilling over the sides. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, luv.” Graham took a sip. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all,” the bartender said. “What can I do for you?”
Graham tossed the photograph toward her. “Have you ever seen this man? He may have been in the hotel sometime in June.”
“June, you say? No, can’t say I recognize the mate. Has he done something wrong? He’s awful handsome for a criminal.”
Graham took back the picture. “No, nothing wrong. We just need to know if he was in the hotel.”
“Handsome mate,” she repeated. “What’s his name?”
“David Baskin.”
“The basketball player who drowned up the coast?”
Graham nodded. “This is his widow, Laura.”
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. Really I am.”
“Thank you,” Laura said.
“But if you have any questions about him being here, you oughta ask my Billy.”
“Who is Billy?” Graham asked.
“My beau. He’s a big fan of American basketball. He watches it on the telly every week, and once he starts watching, a crocodile gnawing at his leg can’t get his attention.”
“And he saw Mr. Baskin?”
“That’s what he said,” the bartender continued. “I didn’t believe him at first. I mean, what would a basketball star be doing here? I said, ‘Billy, you’re just making it up.’ So he says, ‘Oh, yeah,’ and hands me an autograph he got. Then I believed him.”
“Where is Billy now?”
The bartender checked the clock behind her. “Should be arriving any minute now. He’s a bellboy. You should be able to find him in the front lobby. Tall, skinny guy.”
LAURA told Graham Rowe the whole story. She started with the house being broken into, the open calendar on the desk, the missing photograph, the missing money, Richard Corsel, the money transfer to Switzerland—everything. By the time she finished, they were settled into the plush chairs in the sitting room of her suite at the Pacific International Hotel.
Graham began to pace back and forth, his head nodding as he listened to her words. He petted his beard with his hand. “That’s certainly a strange story, Laura.”
“I know.”
“Very strange,” he repeated as though clarifying the notion in his own mind. “You say that nobody knew David’s bank number except the two of you?”
“Right.”
Graham peered at her. “That would make you a pretty good suspect, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” Laura said matter-of-factly. “I’m the wife. I would have inherited everything anyway. There would have been no reason for me to go through the whole money-transfer scheme.”
He nodded at her. “I didn’t mean—”
“Please don’t apologize,” she interrupted him. “We have to explore every possible avenue. We might as well get rid of that one first.”
“True enough,” he replied. “Now let me make another observation, which you may find a tad more insightful than my first: you suspect your husband’s mate T.C. may have something to do with this.”
Laura stood. “What makes you say that?”
“Simple,” Graham said. “If you still trusted him completely, he’d be here with you. He was the first one you called when David disappeared. By your own definition, he’s a good cop who was David’s best mate. So why isn’t he here investigating all of this?”
Laura glanced out the window. Down the block stood the Peterson building. Why had she gone to that damn meeting with the Petersons anyway? Why hadn’t she just stayed with David? “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve always trusted T.C., and so did David. They were very close. I can’t believe he would do anything to hurt David. He loved him. And yet . . .”
“Yet?”
“He’s been acting so weird lately.”
“In what way?”
“There’ve been a lot of things. He keeps disappearing all the time. He tried to stop me from putting pressure on Corsel at the bank. He shoves away all the strange happenings as coincidence. And that’s not like the T.C. I know. The T.C. I know would go through hell to trace down any clue, especially if it involved David.”
“So then he doesn’t know you’re here?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Graham sat back down. “Well, then, what do you say we get this investigation started?”
“What should we do first?”
“Do you have a photograph of David?”
She reached into her handbag and pulled out a photo of him that she had taken the previous February. David’s cheeks were red from the wind, his breath visible in the bitter winter morning. But his smile flashed brightly through the harsh weather. “Here,” she said handing it to him. “What are you going to do with it?”
“The call to the bank came from this hotel, right?” he said.
“So?”
“So,” Graham answered, “we’re in the hotel already. Let’s see if any of the staff remember seeing David.”
THEY spent the next several hours interviewing the staff. Most were not even on duty on that fateful day in June; others did not recognize the man in the photograph.
“Now what?” Laura asked.
Graham thought a moment. “Let’s go to the bar on the second floor.”
“You think the bartender might have seen him?”
“Very doubtful,” the sheriff replied. “I was thinking more along the lines of having a drink. Man is not a camel, you know.”
She followed him up the stairs. They sat on stools and waited for the barmaid to serve them. Laura looked at the woman behind the bar. She was young, not more than twenty-three or twenty-four. Very attractive in an Ivory Soap-girl sort of way. Outdoorsy-looking. Welltoned body and long auburn hair. The color of her hair reminded Laura of her aunt Judy.
“What can I get ya?” she asked Graham.
“A couple of Four Xs.”
“Coming right up.”
Laura nudged Graham. “Four X?”
“It’s a local beer. You like beer, don’t you?”
She nodded. “What do we do next, Graham?”
“Not sure yet. If no one recognizes him, then it could be your banker Corsel was right. Someone disguised David’s voice and called from here. The question is who.”
The pretty bartender came back with two huge mugs filled with Four X beer, the foam spilling over the sides. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, luv.” Graham took a sip. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all,” the bartender said. “What can I do for you?”
Graham tossed the photograph toward her. “Have you ever seen this man? He may have been in the hotel sometime in June.”
“June, you say? No, can’t say I recognize the mate. Has he done something wrong? He’s awful handsome for a criminal.”
Graham took back the picture. “No, nothing wrong. We just need to know if he was in the hotel.”
“Handsome mate,” she repeated. “What’s his name?”
“David Baskin.”
“The basketball player who drowned up the coast?”
Graham nodded. “This is his widow, Laura.”
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. Really I am.”
“Thank you,” Laura said.
“But if you have any questions about him being here, you oughta ask my Billy.”
“Who is Billy?” Graham asked.
“My beau. He’s a big fan of American basketball. He watches it on the telly every week, and once he starts watching, a crocodile gnawing at his leg can’t get his attention.”
“And he saw Mr. Baskin?”
“That’s what he said,” the bartender continued. “I didn’t believe him at first. I mean, what would a basketball star be doing here? I said, ‘Billy, you’re just making it up.’ So he says, ‘Oh, yeah,’ and hands me an autograph he got. Then I believed him.”
“Where is Billy now?”
The bartender checked the clock behind her. “Should be arriving any minute now. He’s a bellboy. You should be able to find him in the front lobby. Tall, skinny guy.”
